


1940's Top 40

by CGStrider



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Nightmares, cuteness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3102356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CGStrider/pseuds/CGStrider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dream a Little Dream of Me, by Nat King Cole. </p><p> </p><p>December 30th. Journal Entry 0</p><p>It's been months. I hope he's alright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nat King Cole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swolpatrol](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=swolpatrol).



January 7th. Diary Entry 1

It's been months since I've seen even a rumor of Buck. He's vanished, eluding all of our best efforts, but I'm not going to give up on him. It's just like he told me. I'm with him until the end of the line.

\--------

Steve lifted his pen from the small leather bound notebook. He couldn't see well enough to write further. He took a deep breath, blinking until the tears threatening to fall disappeared. Bucky would be found. At any cost.

\-------

Steve stood outside Tony's front door, his hand raised to press the bell, when Tony's voice came through a miniscule speaker above the button.   
"Hey Cap!"   
"Hi, Tony," said Steve haltingly. He hadn't finished convincing himself he truly needed Tony's help. "Can I -"  
He was cut off. "You need intel on your hubby, right?"  
Steve was silent for a moment. "Bucky?"  
"Yeah! Your prehistoric boyfriend."  
"He's... Do you have anything on him?" Steve could feel color rising to his cheeks.   
"Come on in, I'll show you."

They met in Tony's lavish foyer. Tony grinned and handed Steve a manila folder. "Here. This is everything from the last few months." While Steve stood speechless, Tony removed a small tablet from his pocket. "Jarvis, I need the window. Darken it."   
Obediently, Jarvis darkened the massive wall - like windows. With a small flicking motion, Tony sent the files he'd pulled from his device to the windows, using them as a massive screen. Steve gaped as Bucky's face filled the screen.   
"How did you find this?" Steve's voice was barely a whisper.   
"Pulled a favor here, hacked a few laptop cameras there, hijacked some security cameras and presto! I found your man."   
"Where is he?"   
"Never left New York. He's still in Brooklyn"   
"Tony, why didn't you say anything?"  
"You didn't ask, my fossil friend."  
Steve shook his head. "How... How can I thank you?"  
"No thanks needed. You should have asked sooner."   
Steve nodded his thanks instead. 

\-------

The streets of Brooklyn hadn't changed in the 70-some years since Steve had visited. Children still played in the streets, running about and getting underfoot. He ducked his head as a memory came unbidden to his mind.

\-------

Bucky playfully nudged Steve. They sat on Steve's steps while they waited for the baseball game on the radio to start. They were playing Philadelphia in a minute or so. "What's eating you, Steve?" Bucky leaned back on his elbows and stretched his legs out. Steve followed suite.  
"I dunno Buck." He gave a shrug. "I got a feeling, you know? It's a strong feeling."   
"What's the feeling?" Bucky's head lolled back and he moved his eyes to Steve. He'd always liked how Steve's lower lip pouted out when his face was relaxed.  
"I like -" The announcer came on suddenly, the radio static crackling to life.  
"What's that Stevie?"  
"Nothing, Buck." He turned his face from his friend. He couldn't say it now. He couldn't tell Bucky how much he liked him.   
"Alright." Bucky's eyebrows inched into a frown. It had sounded like Steve was going to say - no. Steve couldn't return his affection. He was Stevie. He was Bucky's best friend. Bucky carefully eased his face into a laid-back smile. His confession would have to wait.

\------

Steve returned to the present. He was in front of his old apartment. He smiled. It hadn't barely changed. The old wood door was still the same. The scratch he and Bucky put on it while moving in was still there. It looked more worn than it had, but the same scratch was still there. It was an odd thing to notice, but it gave Steve hope. Maybe, when he found Bucky, they could live together again.   
Suddenly the door opened. A tousled blond head poked out, blinking sleepily. "Oi, wot yeh doing outside me door? Scram, ye bum," said the man.   
"Sorry," said Steve, rapidly backing up. "Just reminiscing."   
"Reminisce somewhere else!"   
"Sorry!" Steve practically leapt down the steps. It was a pity such an unpleasant man owned it now. He had many wonderful memories stashed in there. Once he reached the ground, he looked up at the sky. The sunset was one of his favorite things. Watching sunsets with Bucky was something they did often when they lived together.   
He could make it back home just before dark if he took the train. 

\-------

January 10th. Diary Entry 2

Bucky is in Brooklyn. How could I have missed it? Here I was halfway across the globe searching every HYDRA outpost I could find and he was home. I'll find him soon. I have a hunch that he's near. 

\-------

Steve woke at 6:00 AM sharp. His body clock didn't need any prompting. He drowsily got up and stretched, taking a luxurious yawn. Another day of searching for Bucky was beginning. He showered and dressed,  making himself breakfast. He made a habit of reading the news before going running. Steve always spoke to Sam, if he was there. This morning was one of the rare mornings there was no Sam. Steve ran his laps and jogged home. He cleaned up, grabbed a bottle of water and 20$ cash, and left.

 

Steve returned home, his legs aching for respite. He'd patrolled the streets of Brooklyn, keeping a sharp eye out for Bucky. Any sign of long, unkempt dark hair and broad, well-muscled shoulders and Steve would discreetly tail the man until he was able to glimpse his face, at which point the man would turn out to be anyone but who he was looking for. He turned on the news and leaned back on his couch. Heaving a sigh, he closed his eyes.

\------

January 15th. Diary Entry 3

I forgot how many memories Brooklyn holds for me. Here and there, memories of Bucky and me will pop up. A snippet of a conversation by the diner, a friendly hug by the library, and walking down the sidewalk shoulder to... Head. He was always taller than me. When I mentioned it, he'd always tell me I would grow. He'd always say maybe someday I'd be taller than him.   
I wish he could see me now. Here I am, 90-some years old and still running after him like a lovesick schoolgirl. I miss him.

\-------

Steve woke, his instincts telling him something was wrong. He slowly eased out of bed. With every sense on turbo, Steve padded lightly down his hallway. He entered the kitchen. Nothing out of the ordinary. He flattened himself against the wall before peeking into the living room. Steve jerked back in surprise. He checked again. There was a form curled in the corner, on the floor by the couch. He approached it slowly.   
"Who are you?"   
The form shifted and the outline of a head became visible.   
Steve tried again. "Who are you? Why are you here?"   
The form wobbled before feebly hauling itself to its feet.   
Steve's mouth dropped open in shock. He couldn't believe it. "Buck?" His voice was barely a whisper.

Bucky raised his head at the sound of the man's voice. Where was he? The last thing he could remember was waking down the sidewalk, then he saw a tall blond man across the street and everything went dark from there. He faintly remembered flashes of pain and trying to do something...   
He'd been trying to find his way home. He could barely stand, let alone try to formulate thoughts or remember his actions. Everything was a blur since the helicarrier. Brief flashes of running, dark streets, and pain were everything his exhausted mind could conjure. He swayed. The blond man stepped towards him and Bucky nearly fell trying to move away.   
"I won't hurt you," said the man. "You need rest."   
Bucky tried to say no, to say his current condition, while not optimal, was acceptable, but the sound that escaped his mouth was a strangled grunt.   
"Please. Let me help you."   
Bucky glared at the man as he walked slowly across the room, beckoning for him to follow. Bucky warily edged after him, keeping to the wall for support. Something tugged in the back of his mind, nearly pulling him off-balance. The man in front of him surfaced in his mind, smiling and removing straps from Bucky's body. He can't hear what the man says, but his strong arms help him upright and support him as -   
Bucky felt himself lowered into something soft. He opened his eyes and saw the man again. This time, much closer. The man's arms were loosening their grip - the same warm, strong,  comforting arms - and he didn't want them to go. Before the man was too far out of his reach, Bucky stretched out his human hand and grasped the man's shirt.   
"Dont..." Bucky's voice quavered. "Please..."  
Tears formed in the corners of Steve's eyes. "I'm here Buck. I won't leave." Steve took Bucky's hand from his shirt and grasped it firmly in both of his. Bucky's hand was cold and clammy. Bucky lifted his weary gaze to the man's face. The man was crying.  
Bucky lifted his metal hand without thought, but as soon as it entered his range of vision, he dropped it.   
This time, he was aware of his eyes closing. 

\-------

January 16th. Diary Entry 4

He found me. He doesn't remember me, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't remember bring Buck, but he's here. He found his way into my living room before he collapsed. He seemed exhausted. I led him to my room, but he passed out on the way. When I picked him up and set him in my bed, he woke back up. Just as I was taking my arms off him to leave he grabbed my shirt. He asked me not to leave. I think the blackout may have been a memory returning to him. Before it, he wouldn't let me near him. Afterwards, he didn't want me to leave. I held his hand until morning. I fell asleep there, next to him. When I woke, he was still unconscious.

\-------

January 19th. Diary Entry 5

Bucky hasn't woken up. I'm debating taking him to Tony or to a hospital. It's been three days. I'm starting to get scared.

\-------

Steve closed the little book with a decisive snap. He stood, leaving it on the table. Hanging his head, Steve ran his fingers through his hair. He really ought to shower. He sighed and lifted his head, resigning himself to making breakfast. He cracked and scrambled three eggs while a song came to mind. The tune barely registered in his sleep-deprived mind before it was coming out of his mouth. He'd almost forgotten the lyrics of this song. When they lived in the old apartment with the scratch on the door, he and Buck would sing along to any version of the song that came on. His personal favorite was by Nat King Cole. The tune filtered through the dust in the back of his mind as it and the familiar lyrics slowly surfaced. His voice eased into song like an old piano shaking off age.   
"Stars shining bright above you,  
Night breezes seem to whisper 'I love you,'   
Birds singin in the sycamore trees..."   
Another husky voice joined him. "Dream a little dream of me."   
Steve turned sharply, nearly dropping his pan of eggs. His smile nearly split his face. "Bucky!"   
Bucky, leaning against the door frame, smiled through parched, pale lips. "It's me, Steve-o." 


	2. Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smile, though your heart is aching. Smile, even though it's breaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been an eternity since I've updated, but I should be up and working on it again soon! Thanks to everyone who stuck with and reviewed. I'm posting the second chapter again due to a funky coding error in one of Bucky's memories. My fingers are crossed so it works this time! 
> 
> Thnks fr th rdng
> 
> \-------

January 21st. Diary Entry 6

Bucky sang with me. He recognized the song "Dream a Little Dream of Me" by Nat King Cole and remembered some of the lyrics. He remembered my name. There's hope yet! He even called me Steve-o. He used to do that when we were teens. He'd call me Steve-o when he wanted to reassure me he was alright after he got beat up defending me. I knew he wasn't alright, but I never said anything. He seemed glad. Now, I can really tell he's not okay. He rarely speaks past a yes or no when I ask him something and he seems distracted. Sometimes his face goes completely blank and he'll stare out the window for hours. That's when I worry about him the most: that's when the Bucky leaves his face and the cold, dead eyes of the Winter Soldier reinstate their control. I know now he's struggling between being Buck and the Soldier.

\-------

Bucky sauntered into the apartment he and Steve shared. Blood caked his nose and mouth and his lip was split, but he tried his best to stand straight and smile for Steve. When Steve saw the bruises on Bucky's face, he couldn't hide the sympathetic pain that flashed across his eyes. He took Bucky's hand, knuckles bloodied, and towed him wordlessly to the kitchen. Steve sat him down on one of their kitchen chairs and went to fetch a bowl of water and a clean cloth. While he was gone, Bucky leaned back and let out a pained breath. He could feel bruises forming on his face, chest, and stomach, and he knew his legs couldn't be faring well. He'd taken on a five-man gang. Not his best idea. Bucky raised his hand to his face and looked at it, his face crinkling when he moved his fingers. Also not a good idea. Steve startled Bucky out of his thoughts when he gently smoothed the hair from his damp forehead.  
"Hey Steve-o, sorry about that. Didn't hear you come in."  
Steve nodded tersely. He kneeled in front of Bucky's chair and took the hand Bucky want examining. He carefully rolled up Bucky's sleeve, only to discover more abrasion. Bucky winced.  
"I'm sorry," murmured Steve.  
"Not your fault," said Bucky. He truly didn't mind Steve's small, soft hands on his arms. When asked directly about it, Bucky might even say he liked Steve touching him.  
Steve dipped the cloth in the bowl of water and squeezed it, dabbing it with a feather's lightness over the blood dried on Bucky's skin.  
"You really did a number on yourself." Steve looked resolutely down on his task, trying not to let Bucky see his eyes begin to tear up.  
"Sorry." Bucky refused to look at Steve. Guilt settled like a cold lump of lead in his stomach. He knew how much it hurt Steve when Bucky fought for him, but he couldn't let the men come back for his friend. He got the message across with grievous harm to both sides. Bucky walked away with scrapes, cuts, and bruises, but some of the men limped away minus some of their teeth and without a shred of their dignity.  
Steve worked wordlessly until both of Bucky's hands were clean enough to his satisfaction to dress. He rinsed the cloth again and stood.  
"I'm gonna need you to hold still now more than ever, Buck." Steve moved towards the first cut on Bucky's strong jaw.  
Bucky looked up into Steve's eyes and realized, not for the first time, how beautiful they were. He looked away and a corner of his mouth turned up. His sharp intake of breath as his lip cracked further made Steve involuntarily jump back.  
"What's wrong? Did I hurt you? I'm sorry," said Steve.  
Bucky shook his head. "It wasn't you, Stevie. It's alright. I'm fine."  
Steve haltingly went back to his gentle dabbing. He lingered unintentionally as he dabbed softly at Bucky's lip. He couldn't stop a thought from popping into his head. He wondered just how soft Bucky's beautiful lips would be against his own. He allowed himself a small smile while Bucky's gaze was averted. He'd tell Buck how much he loved him eventually.

\-------

Steve woke blearily, his back crying out for movement. He got up off the couch and a small strangled grunt escaped him as he stretched. He heaved a sigh and padded quietly to his room. Steve cracked the door open and smiled when he saw Bucky was fast asleep in his bed. He was in the act of closing the door when a whimper stopped him in his tracks. Bucky cried out in his sleep again and Steve opened the door, slipping in and shutting it behind him. He took Bucky's human hand in his own and have it a gentle squeeze. Its cold, clammy touch made him worry.  
"Buck. Hey." Steve gently stroked the scars that crisscrossed Bucky's hand like antique lace. Bucky screamed and jerked bolt upright, his eyes wild and terrified. "Buck. Bucky. Hey. It's me. It's Steve. It's okay. It's alright, buddy."  
Bucky turned his head to Steve and Steve never forgot the look on his face. Mouth open in a soundless scream and tears pouring down his cheeks, the only recognizable aspect of his face was his wide, terrified eyes. Steve sat on the bed facing Bucky and enfolded him in his arms. Steve hadn't realized just how much larger than Bucky he was until Bucky's body fit into his lap.  
"Shhhhhh shh shh, it's alright Bucky. It's okay. You're safe here. It's okay," Steve murmured.  
Bucky shuddered and curled against Steve. With his face buried in Steve's vaguely familiar neck, Bucky started to return to himself. His shuddering, gasping sobs subsided, replaced with hiccups and small sniffles.  
"Steve?" Bucky's voice was the barest quiver of air.  
"Yeah, Buck. It's me."  
"I'm sorry..."  
Steve reached up to cradle Bucky's head against him. It felt so strange, for him to be the one holding Bucky. It had always been Bucky who was the big, strong one. Even if Bucky was sick, he wouldn't admit it. Even after the serum injection, it was still Bucky who was Steve's anchor. "It's alright, Buck."  
"Steve I'm so sorry..." Tremors wracked Bucky's body. "Steve..." His voice broke.  
Steve rocked slowly, a warm hum beginning in his chest and branching out until Bucky felt it against his tearstained face. The familiar melody found its way through the whirlwind of glass shards that was his mind. The hand that was clamped around a piece of Steve's shirt slowly relaxed its grip. Bucky realized his metal arm was between him and Steve when Steve's hand returned to his unmarred shoulder. Bucky slowly eased himself from Steve's warm embrace, loathe to leave its comfort. He took a deep, slow breath and let it out all in a whoosh. "Steve..."  
Steve's mouth quirked sadly upwards in one corner. "I gotcha. Night, Buck."  
"W-wait... That's not..." Bucky raised his gaze to Steve's for a fraction of a second. In Steve's vivid blue eyes, he saw sad understanding of inevitable rejection. "Please..." Bucky cursed inwardly at himself as the pathetic plea left his mouth. Why couldn't he bear to be alone any more? "Steve." He coerced his thoughts into a tired, sluggish semblance of something coherent. "Stay?" He dropped his gaze again, his hair hiding the tears that refused to disappear.  
"Until the end of the line, Buck."  
Bucky closed his eyes as a memory washed over him.

\-------

Bucky could barely move. It took every ounce of his concentration to focus on what Steve was saying.  
"... shouldn't work today. You've got a fever."  
Bucky frowned. "S'okay, 'm fine." He swayed.  
"Bucky. You're not going to work. I don't give a rat's ass how much you want to get away from me. You will not leave."  
"Stevie -"  
"No. You're staying home."  
"But-"  
"No." Steve took Bucky's arm and draped it across his narrow shoulders, steadying Bucky as he guided his sick friend back to bed. Bucky protested mildly, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. Steve set Bucky down gently on his bed. "Strip."  
Bucky stared blankly at him. Why would he get out of perfectly good work clothes? And why did Steve say... He didn't want to get away from Steve at all, that wasn't right! Bucky moved a hand sluggishly to unbutton his shirt, but he hesitated.  
"Buck..." Steve sighed. He started to unbutton Bucky's immaculate white shirt. He muttered quietly. Bucky could pick out "useless" and "big lug" and "stubborn mule" in among the rambling. Bucky watched Steve's small hands with no small amount of interest.  
"Stevie, you've got some real pretty hands," he slurred.  
"And you've got a high fever," quipped Steve in return.  
"No but... I noticed before. Your hands are all smooth and nice. I like your hands."  
Steve rolled his eyes, thinking Bucky was having a fever-induced Moment.  
Bucky smiled wanly as Steve finished the last button and took his shirt off, Steve's words forgotten. He watched Steve walk to his dresser and return with a pajama shirt. He responded when needed, lifting his arms to help. Steve looked him over.  
"That'll have to do," He said.  
Bucky swayed. "Thanks, bud. Now leave, don't wanna get you sick too."  
"I'll be fine." Steve smiled reassuringly. "Go to sleep, Buck. I'll wake you up when there's food."

\-------

Bucky returned to himself relaxed. This had been a good memory. Usually, the memories that came at night were the faces of his victims. This... There was an arm draped over his waist. There was a warmth at his back. It took him a few seconds to remember - Steve. He remembered Steve catching him as he fell to the side, slipping out of consciousness. He remembered doing that for Steve when he was sick, too. Bucky smiled to himself and snuggled closer to Steve's warm chest. It was good to be home.


	3. More Than You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More than you know, more than you know - man of my heart, I love you so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how long it's taken me to get this chapter up. I'm working on the next one and I have a good thirty more lined up after that. I'm going to start trying to update regularly. 
> 
> Thnx fr th rdng
> 
> \-------

February 10. Diary entry 7

Recently, Bucky has been coming back to himself more and more. I’m beginning to see his old self again and the nightmares are becoming less frequent. I’ve forgotten to write in my diary for a while as well. You know, I’m not sure if I need it any more. Natasha and Tony both told me on separate occasions to use it to record my ‘innermost self’ when I felt… Anything. Heck, I wrote in it when I was bored, when I missed Bucky, after I’d gotten back from a mission, when Bucky came back, and now, I think this will be my final entry. I feel good about all of it - about Bucky, about being here in this time - and I don’t think I need to write about it any more.

Signing off,  
Steve Rogers

\-------

Steve closed the little book, fondly running a thumb over its surface before tucking it into a desk drawer and turning to look back at the sleeping Bucky. He took several seconds just to look at the man. Dark circles rimmed Bucky’s closed eyes and his lips were relaxed, parted softly. Steve watched as his eyes flicked back and forth under his eyelids, trying to imagine what kind of dream was going through his friend’s mind.   
“Gotta… protect…” The words came so softly from Bucky that Steve thought he’d made it up. He frowned.   
“Bucky?”  
“I have to… Gotta tell ‘im…” The words came more strongly now as Bucky’s hand twitched. Steve imagined he was getting ready to fight dream bullies - had they been Hydra staff, Bucky would have already been standing and screaming. Steve relaxed back into the chair.   
“Steve,” said Bucky, turning his head away from Steve in his sleep.   
Steve smiled, replying, “yeah, Buck?”  
“... tell ya… love ya…” Bucky’s words were muffled by the sheets.   
Steve, deciding not to wake his sleeping friend, stood as quietly as he could and padded from the room. He folded silently into his padded sofa, thoughts running in too many directions for him to count. From what he could tell, somewhere in Bucky’s dream, someone wanted to tell him that they loved him. 

\-------

Steve stood in front of the pitifully small granite headstone that read ‘Sarah Rogers.’ His thin shoulders shook as he bit the inside of his lip, trying not to cry. She’d been all the family he had apart from Bucky, who may as well have been a brother. He still felt the hole her passing had put through him as keenly as if it had just happened. Memories of his mother passed through his mind and he didn’t know how long he’d been standing there when he felt an arm gently wrap around his shoulders. He looked up into Bucky’s somber blue eyes and he felt the levee inside him shatter. Bucky pulled Steve into his chest as he cried, holding the man he loved close as his own heart broke. His own voice hoarse from fighting the lump in his throat, Bucky spoke.   
“She loved you, ya know.”  
Steve didn’t respond, keeping his face pressed into Bucky’s jacket.   
“I’ll bet she still does, from up in heaven.” Bucky’s voice cracked. “You’re loved, Stevie. More than ya know.”   
I love you Steve, he yearned to say. 

\-------

Steve woke with a jolt, realizing he’d fallen asleep on the couch. He stood and stretched briefly before going in to check on Bucky. Luckily he was asleep, but some time during the night, Bucky had moved to the window seat and fallen asleep leaning against it. Steve stood in the doorway, pausing for a moment, before he suddenly tiptoed to his desk and brought out a sketchpad. With only the faint light of the sun that barely peeked over the horizon, Steve began to sketch. First, Bucky’s relaxed posture appeared on the page. Then, with almost frenetic urgency, Bucky’s shoulders, head, and arms appeared. His face was the last thing Steve drew. With careful diligence Steve mapped out the face of the only family he had left in this time, gently working in the faint shadows cast by the first light of dawn. Just as Steve lifted the pencil for the final time, Bucky blearily raised his head and yawned. He unfolded from his position in the window and stretched luxuriously as Steve quickly stashed the pad and greeted him.   
“Mornin’ Buck, sleep well?”  
Bucky nodded, taking his time with speech. “Yeah, I had… a dream.”  
Steve probed him for the details of the dream, but Bucky vaguely avoided him. “It was back in 1940, and it was me and you. In our apartment. That’s all I remember,” he insisted, knowing full well he remembered the dream in all it’s crisp, glorious detail.   
Steve let him go, heading to the kitchen to make them breakfast. From his room down the hall he heard another familiar tune from the lexicon of love songs he’d heard in his day. Though Bucky’s voice was getting better the more he sang, it was still unapologetically rough and loud and wonderfully Bucky. Steve smiled to himself as he worked. He remembered the dance when he’d first heard it. 

\-------

Bucky shot a vicious pout after the two girls he’d brought as they walked out together, arms entwined. The last song of the night was about to start and they’d left him and Steve alone to dance it. He sighed and smiled, secretly thrilled that the two had left him to dance with Steve. Steve looked up at Bucky’s dazzling blue eyes, sparkling with mischief, and almost yelped as Bucky swung him back out onto the dance floor.   
“No reason we can’t dance this last song anyways,” was Bucky’s only response to Steve’s questioning look.   
Steve just smiled, not trusting his mouth to say anything other than ‘I love you.’ He simply relished the time he got to spend in Bucky’s arms. As the musicians thanked everyone and stepped down from the bandstand, the two parted sadly. Steve did note, however, that Bucky’s arm stayed firmly looped around his waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Than You Know, by Billie Holiday
> 
> Sorry about the length and fluff of this chapter, I should be back to the regularly scheduled angst and heartbreak shortly. 
> 
> This is my first Stucky fic! Please review: I live on constructive criticism


	4. Peggy Lee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Linger in my arms a little longer, baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the length of this one, it's a bit shorter than I wanted it to be. >~> I'll make up for it in the upcoming few chapters. There are quite a few things to come!
> 
> Thnks fr th rdng

Bucky got out of the shower to the smell of bacon and eggs wafting into his room - Steve’s room - from the kitchen. He could hear Steve humming quietly to himself, the lyrics of one of the songs produced shortly after he went into hibernation on his lips. Bucky smiled, finally feeling like the James Buchanan Barnes who died the day the Winter Soldier was born. He was living in an apartment again as opposed to on the streets of Brooklyn and he lived with Steve again. He still couldn’t entirely believe he was with the boy he’d chased all of his life, living here in Steve’s clean little apartment, after so many years of being apart and being the Winter Soldier. In the privacy of his room, he took a moment to sit on the bedside and simply look at himself and enjoy the sound coming from the kitchen. His chest was flecked with little scars that he assumed were from shrapnel and his human arm the same. His other arm gleamed malevolently in the morning light, few scratches marring its mirror-like surface. He caught sight of his own blue eyes reflected back at him and the hope he’d been feeling sank into a cold lump in his stomach. He was still a Hydra creation and he had to remember that. He wasn’t human. He was a monster. He’d killed more people than he could count, men women and children alike. He was a cold, unfeeling machine that only did as it was told. Bucky glared down at the prosthetic arm and the warped scar tissue that bound it to his skin. It was a gleaming metal reminder of every life he’d taken and it was disgusting. He was disgusting. Slowly, Bucky pulled on one of the shirts on loan to him from Steve and stood, one voice constantly circling through his head. I am a monster, it said. I am a monster and I do not deserve love. He quietly stepped out of his room and to the kitchen where Steve was absentmindedly humming and stirring a pan full of chopped onions. Bucky silently took a seat at the counter and propped his head on his hands. A smile tugged weakly at the corner of his mouth as another memory from when he was clean and whole returned to him.

\-------

“Linger in my arms a little longer, baby,” sang Steve as he flipped a pancake in the skillet his mother had left him.   
“Hold me tight,” answered Bucky, filling in the next lyrics. He smirked at Steve’s surprise and the two of them finished the verse together, the pancake momentarily forgotten. Steve laughed when they were finished.   
“Didn’t know you knew the song, Buck,” said Steve, smiling broadly.   
“Of course I know it, you sing it all the time,” answered Bucky.  
Steve’s eyes went wide for a moment, then he whirled back to the stove, where the pancake had begun to burn. He flipped it again and blushed furiously. He grumbled under his breath about how insufferably sweet Bucky’s voice was, no matter how husky, and how distracting he was. Steve gasped and nearly flung the pancake to the ceiling as Bucky’s hands slid across his stomach and pulled him into a hug.   
“Bucky, you scared the heck outta me!”  
“Gotcha!” Bucky pulled back and laughed as Steve recovered the pancake and blushed beet red. Steve shot him a glare, which only made Bucky laugh harder. Soon, even Steve had to laugh.   
The pancakes were delicious.

\-------

Bucky returned to himself as Steve added eggs to the now caramelized onions. The smell was absolutely heavenly. He stood and and walked quietly to where Steve stood and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist. Steve yelped and almost threw the skillet full of food.   
“Damnit, Bucky, you scared me!”  
Bucky laughed quietly, not trusting himself not to cry. Steve smiled and leaned back into Bucky, continuing to hum. Bucky laid his head against Steve’s shoulder and smiled gratefully. He was glad Steve hadn’t pushed him away. As the thought crossed his mind, another appeared directly afterward. It was pathetic, wasn’t it? He was so low and so selfish that he thought himself worthy of Steve’s touch and affection. Bucky let Steve go and returned to his seat at the counter, smiling sadly. Steve glanced at him, brows knit in concern.   
“Buck…?” Steve’s voice was tinged with sadness and confusion.  
“Gotcha, Stevie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review, I thrive on constructive criticism. I'd really like to know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Please listen to the 1940's top hits. They're really great
> 
> This is my first Stucky fic! Please review: I live on constructive criticism


End file.
